MIT: Meet the Press
by Ghost-of-a-Chance-13
Summary: Amber told everyone to be on their best behavior during the Press tour. What WAS she thinking? With every new disaster, Amber becomes even more certain…she's getting fired over this. No matter what happens, though, some things will never change: her stubborn heart, Abe's talent in tearing down her walls, & the impossible love that binds them together come Heck or handsy reporters.
1. Meet the Press

_I don't own Hellboy, TMNT, or any mentioned books/movies/music/etc; no money is made from this writing. I DO own my OCs_ _…_ _and a gassy cat who REALLY needs to see the vet. XP_

Warnings: Language, skanky friends, immaturity, crack humor, and a Monty Python reference.

Until the MTH Civil Rights movement, the BPRD was firmly on the "Does not exist" list; now, it has been opened to the public for the first time, by way of a press tour. Naturally, this does NOT go well. Though this shot includes several characters from Hellboy AND TMNT, it centers mostly around Abe and Amber, because she's such a hoot to write.

 ** _Suggested Listening:_**

 _[Madness, "Our House"]_

* * *

 **Moments in Time: Meet the Press**

 **Part I: The Tour**

 ** _Friday Afternoon_**

It wasn't often that the public was allowed a glimpse inside the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. Since Amber Willow Jr was hired on in Tom Manning's place, however, a whole slew of changes had taken place, especially regarding public relations. The so-called "More Than Human" civil rights movement had only gained momentum after the citizenship issue was solved, and the public—human and not-quite-human alike—were more curious than ever.

If not for pressure from the press and a whole month of nothing but hecklers demanding transparency, nothing could have convinced Amber to offer a guided tour of the facilities. If not for the majority of the higher-ranking agents—and anyone else she might have trusted to guide a tour—being absent for missions or illness, she'd never have been the guide. Furthermore, if Professor Broom hadn't convinced her the agents could behave for an entire hour, she'd have evacuated all locations being toured. If she'd had her way, Hellboy's bare ass wouldn't have been photographed by a reporter sneaking into a nearby locker room, and her sister wouldn't have splattered blue and orange paint all over a trio of nosy reporters who'd invited themselves into her office.

Manning's 9x9' foot cell in Guantanamo was looking mighty cozy again.

Fighting the urge to tug at her shoulder-length light auburn hair, Amber led the group of journalists and reporters around yet another corner. Her cheeks hurt from forcing herself to keep smiling brightly no matter what catastrophic disasters she came upon. Her feet hurt from the dress flats she'd been determined to torture herself with. Her cream colored blouse and forest green skirt were surely covered in paint spatter from Jasmine's temper tantrum, too, and she just _knew_ the black and white cat that had somehow escaped Hellboy's suite had left her best nylons full of hair and runs. Still, she trudged onward, only halfway focused on the history lesson she was reciting to an audience who probably weren't even listening.

"And over here, folks," she chattered brightly. "We have the Library. Though it was once office to the first Director of the Bureau, it is now open to all with sufficient clearance." The gasps and murmurs of awe from her followers were quite an improvement to their previously nosy digging, she mused as she scanned the tank walls for movement in the water.

As the herd fanned out slightly, a short cameraman with a well-developed beer gut swaggered over to the glass walls, staring critically into the seemingly empty depths. Confident that the accompanying blacksuit agents—Agents Quarry, Clay, Reed, and Rush—could handle the rest of the gathering, Amber watched him carefully. Several times during the walk there, she'd been spooked by what had felt like a palm on her behind. Upon turning to chew the perpetrator out, though, she'd always found him, ignoring her and spouting snide remarks to the reporter who'd come with him. Without solid proof, she'd decided that she must have been imagining things; a sudden flash of blue in the water before her, however, had her questioning the man's innocence. From the obvious psychic waves of annoyance emanating from the tank, Abe was clearly _not happy._

The man all-but pressed his nose to the glass, searching for any sign of life, then turned to sneer at her, jabbing a thumb at the tank. "Ya can't even keep _fish_ alive. How ya gonna keep us _normal folks_ alive, if ya can't even keep _fish_ alive?" Behind him, a shadow glided toward the glass wall; forcing a sweet, guileless smile onto her painted lips, Amber quirked her head to the side slightly.

"Oh, but Sir," she said sweetly. "The 'fish' is very much alive…aren't you, Aber'hem?" Following her gaze, the man turned back to the tank; the sight of Abe studying him critically from the other side of the glass sent him scrambling away with a girly shriek, only to trip on the steps and land flat on his behind. Finally content after the long tour, she pressed her palm to the glass wall between them. "How are you, Darlin'?"

"Quite well, Dearest," Abe answered softly, returning the gesture fondly. Upon seeing memories of the tour so far, he winced. "I see the bureau is as lively as ever."

"Understatement of the year," she muttered, glancing warily at the still stunned oaf behind her. "I'll drop by once the tour's over—we've important business to discuss." He knew without prying that said 'business' involved the cameraman's actions, and plans to handle the PR mess that the tour was likely to cause. With an affectionate smile, she turned to continue the tour. Surely the cafeteria would be safe.

* * *

Vega glowered suspiciously at the contents of her plate. "So far," she announced, "I have _yet_ to find any _meat_ in this meatloaf." Across from her, Ramona grimaced, staring down her spaghetti.

"I think my noodles just moved," the redhead countered. "At least yours is _dead_." Fed up with their commentary, the crowd of blacksuit agents surrounding them collected their meal trays and moved to another table. " _Finally_. Was beginning to think they'd _never_ leave." Vega shrugged, sawing through the meatloaf-flavored brick.

"Meh." With the table less crowded, the two friends set into their meals. "Wonder how the tour's going." Curious as well, Ramona closed her eyes, reaching out her senses for answers.

"Sounds pretty bad," she answered, bright green eyes amused. "Amber's gonna be having a long talk with the bigwigs at Fox news…the cameraman they sent keeps grabbing her ass. Surprised she hasn't decked him." The surly air type nodded distractedly, her thoughts drawn to the hazel-eyed ninja she hadn't seen in days. Her spirit type friend picked up the thought easily, grinning slyly. "So how're things going with Raphael? You bag'im yet?" Sure enough, Vega choked on her iced tea, her eyes panicked. "No need to get choked up over it."

"There'll be _no bagging!"_ Vega barked hoarsely. "He drives me _nuts!_ As in _'I wanna rearrange his intestines'_ nuts!"

"That just makes things interesting," Ramona smirked shamelessly. "I never fuck boring people—it's no fun."

"You're a nympho, Mona," Vega glared back. "You'll fuck anyone who won't press charges! I'm not like that—there're more important things in life than getting' laid!" Ramona shrugged, picking at her spaghetti.

"Better laid too often than not enough," she retorted airily. "Personally, I think he's hot. Biceps like that should be illegal." Grumbling sourly, Vega returned to her meatloaf with a vengeance. "So if you're not callin' dibs, can I?" The sound of her knife impacting the plastic plate rang out like a gunshot. "Or are you callin' dibs?" Fighting to regain control, Vega screwed shut her grey eyes, counted to ten, and fought down the impending explosion that wouldn't help anyone.

"No dibs," she growled. "I've got better things to do."

"Better things to _do_ than a _hot ninja?"_ Ramona gasped in mock dismay. "You can't be serious! I'd _do_ him any day of the week!" Finally, Ramona's teasing paid off; Vega exploded.

 _"I wouldn't do'im for a Klondike bar!"_ she snapped as a temperamental gust of wind swept a nearby table and several chairs off their feet. A deep laugh nearby sent her cheeks blazing; she knew that laugh.

"Yeah?" Raphael sneered as he passed their table with a plate laden with pizza. "Well, I wouldn't do _you_ for a _box_ of'em." Mortified and furious, she pointedly ignored him, focusing on mutilating her meatloaf. Ramona leered at the departing ninja, unaffected by her brooding friend's glares.

"Hell, _I'd_ do'im for _free_."

"Mona?"

"Yeah?"

" _Shut up_." In the doorway of the cafeteria, Amber made a mental note to exclude the cafeteria from any future tours, then led the tittering group back out the door. There had to be _somewhere_ on the campus that was vacant—somewhere she could take the nosy vultures without subjecting them to the uncouth _imbeciles_ under her charge.

* * *

Renovations on the large meeting room had finally been completed a week ago; already, it was closed for repairs. Clicks, scrapes, grunts, and low, grumbled cursing echoed through the empty room—empty, that is, but for two maintenance workers tasked with fixing several of the brand new, state-of-the-art light fixtures and power outlets, all of which were already malfunctioning. The blonde electric type elemental sat perched atop a ladder, inspecting the wiring of an overhead light, mumbling under her breath about the part-time techs whose shoddy wiring they were already repairing. Nearby, at a much more comfortable height of floor-level, her partner wrestled with a outlet box she'd pulled loose for inspection; it had already tried to kill her once— _after_ its power supply was cut. She was just _dying_ to figure out how the techs had accomplished _that_.

"Think the tour's done yet?" Alesha asked as she scrutinized the mangled wiring; even if the other crew _hadn't_ jammed several _feet_ of loose wire in behind the box, the half-assed job wasn't nearly up to code. Elysia shrugged.

"Ah sho' _hope_ so, Al. Ah'm 'bout ready ta _zap_ someone. This _stanks_." Alesha grinned widely at her friend's huffy tone.

"An' I'm sure that has _nothin'_ to do with Sid bein' on mission." Sure enough, the blonde blushed, focusing harder on her work.

"At leas' I ain't stuck _MEN-torin'_ him," she shot back. "Mus' be _en-FYUR-ee-aytin'_ havin' ta talk shop ever-time ya see _Dahnatella."_ The other woman ducked her head, hiding a troubled frown behind the bill of her favorite hat.

"Nah. He's doin' well—makin' lots'a progress. I really haven't needed to do much. You're paired up with Mikey, right? How's that goin'?"

" _Ugh._ " Grey eyes shot an annoyed glare down at her. "I _sway-uh,_ that kid's got ADD. He's drivin' me _nutz!_ At _least_ his _may-nuhs_ have improved."

"Yeah, he's a good kid underneath it all." Finally the last mangled wire was disconnected, and Alesha dug through her bag for the new outlet. "He thinks you're cute, too." Elysia scoffed.

"He's _bah-kin_ up the wrong _tray-ee,_ an' he _knowz-it._ I ain't up fer _gray-abs._ "

"Still, it's a compliment…" Alesha continued thoughtfully as she wired in the new outlet. "Heck, I'm pretty sure Donatello thinks I'm actually _guy_ …the deep voice an' 'anti-girly shit' attitude don't help much."

 _"Way-ell,"_ Elysia grinned slyly. "Ef ya didn't walk like a _lumba-jack_ , ya'd look more _feminine_." Alesha grinned, gesturing theatrically to the room around them.

"I never wanted to be a government agent in the first place!" she grinned. "I…I wanted to be… _a LUMBERJACK!_ "

Shortly after, Alesha belted out another verse with Elysia singing harmony, neither noticing their audience. _"I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay! I sleep all night and I work all day! I chop down trees, I wear high heels, suspenders and a bra. I wish I'd been a girlie just like my dear Papa!"_ In the doorway, Amber stared in dismay as the two broke into a massive giggle fit. Struggling to maintain a calm demeanor, she insistently guided the group away again.

'I _told_ these knuckleheads to be on their best behavior!' she thought fiercely, scrambling for a single destination that would be without a doubt, _empty_.

By the time they reached her office twenty minutes later, the group had seen it all. They'd been caught in the crossfire of a nerf gun fight between Mikey and Maggie. That deranged unicorn Poky had barreled past with yet another pair of stolen panties on his horn, and Liz was in hot pursuit. Ashly, the tempermental fire demon who'd signed on the year Amber arrived, was seen loudly threatening to set an overly nosy blacksuit agent on fire. That Lycan Alf had apparently found another skunk as well, and the whole group had been chased far away from the sparring rooms by the stench. Worst yet, the photographer from 'Women's Day' had somehow shot three more photos of Hellboy's butt, two of which he'd clearly posed for. Mentally reminding herself that it could always be worse, Amber led them into her office. The moment she sat down behind her desk, though, it became apparent that she'd forgotten something.

"What an _interesting_ portrait," remarked a particularly well-dressed female reporter. "Isn't that the previous director of the Bureau?" Amber turned startled eyes to the large _Lichtenstein-esque_ acrylic painting across from her desk—a painting hung over a trash can, portraying Manning shouting _"I'm in charge here!"_ with obvious bullseye rings. Though Jasmine had painted it, it had been a gift from the agents as a whole, and had been an excellent way of venting frustration at Manning—not just for her, but for everyone who frequented her office. Despite that, it was very, very unprofessional. Silently, she scrambled for a good answer—an answer that wouldn't make things even worse, but wasn't an outright lie. Nothing came to mind. Finally, she steeled her resolve; these people had wanted to see the Bureau—the _real_ Bureau, not just the fancy brochures or the meticulously fabricated websites—and by the wind in her heart, they'd get what they asked for.

"Folks," she smiled sincerely, reciting the explanation she'd been sworn to. "Allow me to introduce you to Thomas Manning, the former director. He is currently serving a life sentence for treason, fraud, and sabotage, all because he could not overcome personal prejudices."

"If he's so horrible," the sly reporter asked. "Why do you have his portrait on your office wall?" Without a word, Amber retrieved a sheet of paper from a box under her desk, wadded it up into a lump, and chucked it at the painting. As expected, it bounced right off his nose and into the trashcan; suddenly the Plexiglas shield over the painting made perfect sense.

"Every agent in the Bureau suffered when he was in office— _everyone_ paid for his crimes, _everyone_ had to pick up his slack, and _everyone_ has been _hurt_ by his betrayal. That painting has been directly responsible for an increase in morale, and a decrease in resentment between Agents and Management. Is it really so horrible for people to vent their frustration in a positive, non-destructive manner?" The reporter grinned back, shaking her head in agreement. "Any further questions?"

"This is the first time the public have been allowed to see the inner workings of the bureau." She recognized the rather serious speaker as a reporter for the Times. "Why were members of the press and general public banned from the Bureau to begin with, and what convinced those responsible to lift the ban?" Amber glanced at the framed wedding photo on her desk as she considered her answer.

"Oftentimes, mankind tend to focus on unpleasant things, and never notice the pleasant ones. When folks are bombarded with tales of More-than-human beings who have committed crimes, who have harmed others, and etc, they often become convinced that all beings of the sort commit crimes, harm others, and etc. They cannot believe that the good ones outweigh the bad ones, and that not all MTH persons want to harm them." She met the reporter's eyes seriously. "Most of mankind are at least uncomfortable around the paranormal, and almost as many fear it. A significant portion of the Bureau's staff are More-than-human, and we deal _directly_ with the paranormal; being open to the public is dangerous for those under our care, and in our employ, if only due to continuing prejudice."

Realizing she was rambling, she cleared her throat and focused on the questions. "Recently, the Supreme Court passed a landmark law rendering MTH persons eligible for citizenship, and the public have become more tolerant of them. Despite this, there are still many misconceptions out there regarding the MTH population; that, Sir, is why the Bureau has allowed the general populace a close look at our program." Her audience stared, somewhat confused. "Can anyone guess how many of the agents you witnessed today are More-than-human?"

The roomful of visitors discussed the question amongst themselves quietly, all coming to the same conclusion…seven. Amber chuckled lowly, reaching out toward the trashcan in a slow, lifting movement; a murmur of surprise rippled through the room as the wadded up paper in it rose out of the bin, and flew back to her hand, then fluttered above it on a silent updraft. "Not everything is as it seems, ladies and gentlemen…the correct answer is _'everyone not wearing a black suit.'"_

* * *

 _ **Folks, I wasn't quite happy with how this flowed as a one-shot; thus, it has been split into two chapters. If you've already read it, no worries-I've just corrected a few things. If not, hope you're enjoying it!**_

 _ **~Ghost.**_

 **Notes:**

 **"Blacksuit" agents:** Your average run-of-the-mill 'men in black.' Blacksuits are _highly trained humans_ like Liz and the Elementals, rather than More-Than-Humans or Skilled humans.

 **Agents Reed and Rush:** Blacksuit agents, and Original characters of mine. Unlike Quarry and Clay, they chose their code-names from plant life rather than geology. Reed is a bit grouchy, while Rush is cool, collected, and prone to snarky humor.

 **Klondike Bar:** What would YOU do for a Klondike Bar? ;)

 **Lumberjack:** Monty Python, "The Lumberjack Song."

 **Poky the Unicorn:** Initially, Poky started out as a joke; he still is. Poky is incarcerated at the Bureau for his own safety; he is a complete horn-head—pun intended—and is constantly hitting on female agents, and breaking out of his stable, finding ways into their quarters or into the laundry, stealing panties—preferably unwashed—and parading around with them on his horn, while making suggestive comments. My reasoning? According to European folklore, the unicorn was an inherently pure being that could only be caught by a maiden, who would entice him to lay his head in her lap, then tie him up with a golden rope. Surely I'm not the only gutter-brain who sees the subtext here.

 **Alf:** Original Character. Adolfus, or rather, 'Alf,' is a male lycan about thirty years old. He is very polite, friendly, and sweet when he's not in his wolf or hybrid forms, but he has an unfortunate addiction…rolling in roadkill, primarily possums and skunks. Having a human and a wolf in one body at the same time isn't always a bed of roses…sometimes it STINKS.


	2. Part II: The Morning After

_**Suggested Listening:**_ _ **John Legend, "All of Me"**_

 **Part II: The Morning After**

 ** _Saturday, 5am, Abe and Amber's suite_**

"Just give it to me straight, Doc," Amber cringed into her coffee. "How dead are we?" Across the table, Abe turned away from his wife's impressively tangled hair and scanned the pile of newspapers and magazines curiously. He winced, avoiding her eyes.

"The Deaf Leading the Blind," he read aloud, blanching slightly. "We the People Are Doomed." Amber groaned miserably, slumping in her chair.

" _I knew it_ ," she deadpanned. "I'm getting fired over this."

"Oh, never mind—that article was about Congress." Amber eyes shot him a "Really?" glare. "Apologies, Dearest, it's early for me, too."

 _"Congress,"_ she grumbled crossly, rubbing her eyes blearily. "We got up at the _crack of dawn_ , and they wrote about _Congress."_ Abe's eyes glinted in amusement as he contemplated the pile of print. Content that they'd worried for nothing, he turned to study her instead. Fresh from their bed, she had thrown on a frumpy green robe over the pale blue nightgown he'd given her for her last birthday; he found himself slightly miffed at the garment for blocking his view of her lovely curves.

"Perhaps we were simply too boring for them," he teased. "They were likely expecting dungeons, torture chambers, and all manner of inhumane experimentation." He pushed the carafe of coffee toward her. With a mumble of thanks, she refilled her cup, adding a slop of cream and enough sugar to send a hummingbird into cardiac arrest. The thought left him chuckling into his own cup.

"How disappointed they must be to've only found a bunch of ill-mannered, ill-behaved _children_ ," she retorted dryly. "No news is good news, right?" Abe shrugged.

"Women's Day does have a lovely article about us."

 _"Please_ tell me Red's _rear_ isn't in that magazine—their photographer has five photos of it, two of'em sans pants!" Her worries silenced as he pushed the magazine toward her, his eyes gleaming slyly. Rather than her adopted brother's derriere, the visible article was accompanied by a photo from the library; she stood before the tank, while he hovered in the water, their hands separated by the glass wall. Love and contentment shone in their eyes and expressions—anyone who saw that photo would know without a doubt that their differences meant nothing to them. Above the photo, a title had been inked in clear, bold letters: " _ **More Than We Appear: A True Story of Love Beyond Labels."**_

"Aber'hem…" she murmured in disbelief. "It's…It's about _us?"_ He nodded.

"The photos of Hellboy's unmentionables were a ruse—Jasmine had written the magazine about us months ago, apparently, and the editors wanted more." So many words came to mind as she scanned the article before her—shock, happiness, pride—so many words came to mind, though none could adequately explain the warmth in her heart at what she was reading. _At first glance, Dr. Amber Willow-Sapien is only human, and Abraham Sapien blatantly inhuman…in truth, a couple with many differences, but many more similarities…brought together by chance, they have stayed together despite the odds…she completes me…_ Startled by the out-of-place sentence, Amber returned to the beginning of the passage, and read word for word.

 _'The moment I first saw Amber, I forgot myself entirely. For so many years, I knew who I was—I knew my skills and deficiencies, my strengths and weaknesses, and I knew what I would and would never be and have—but the first time my eyes met hers, I knew one glance would never be enough. After years of being the only one of my kind, of always being judged as 'less than a man,' I responded to her honesty with distrust, certain that her smile was only skin-deep. Little had I known that Amber had a secret of her own, and wasn't quite as 'normal' as she'd have me believe.'_ Amber smirked at Abe, amused. "Normal?" she chuckled.

"Would you prefer 'un-freakish?'" he teased. "Normal seemed the least insulting option." Shaking her head at the idea, she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together as she read on.

 _'I'd never have imagined that we had so much in common—things that don't count for much nowadays. Our tastes in literature, and our personal beliefs and values are remarkably similar. Though she's quite obsessed with poetry, tea, and Frank Sinatra'—_ "Obsessed? _Really_ , Abe?" With a mischievous smirk, he lifted her knuckles to his lips for a kiss. _'—those differences have opened up a world of things I'd never have realized I enjoy. Our relationship was built on similarities, but it's our differences that have kept us strong. No matter what happens, I know she has my back, and I'll always have hers. Amber is a woman unlike any other I've met…she completes me, she challenges me, and she brings me unforeseen happiness. Amber is the Mr. Darcy to my Elizabeth Bennet, and I treasure her for everything she's taught me.'_

Amber's heart skipped a beat; butterflies flew barrel rolls in her stomach. Teary-eyed and practically glowing with happiness, she met Abe's eyes. The Mr. Darcy to his Elizabeth Bennet…once again, she was taken off-guard by how romantic her husband could be. Finally finding words, she squeezed his hand gently. "I treasure you as well, Aber'hem—more than you'll ever know." His seldom-seen playful side emerged with an innocent smile.

"More than I'll ever know?" he repeated cheekily, standing and gently leading her to their bedroom. "Darling, I've been in your head times than I care to count—I _do_ know."

"Just in case, though…" She paused for a soft kiss, allowing him to brush the robe down her arms to the floor. "…care to check again? You may've missed something last time." As her fingers laced with his and their minds opened to one another, he leaned in, eyes closed reverently, his brow pressed to hers. His heart was full, and after a long, stressful week, his mind was finally at ease. Eventually the intimacy of the moment would get to them both, eventually they'd wind up hopelessly tangled together in the messy sheets, and eventually they'd grow too hungry to lounge in bed all day. For the moment, though, everything was right in their world, and that was more than enough for them.

* * *

 ** _Monday afternoon, Amber's Office_**

Amber glared at the lean black and white tom cat sprawled out on her desk, pinning down the paperwork she'd been working on. Three times already, she'd called Hellboy into her office to retrieve the cat; three times, it had slipped past the door to his quarters, and found its way back to her office. Finally, she'd decided to just ignore it, already annoyed at how little she'd managed to accomplish. Then it plopped down on the pile of status reports she'd been reviewing, and refused to budge. Pale blue eyes narrowed in bliss, the purring lump stared adoringly at her.

"As if it weren't enough to ruin my best nylons, you stubborn thing," she mumbled half-heartedly. "Now you're impairing my ability to work…and loving every minute, from the look of it." He blinked slowly, bared his teeth in a wide, lazy yawn, then rolled onto his back in a ridiculously contorted sprawl. "No, don't go acting _cute,"_ she scolded weakly, pointing at the paperwork it lay on. "I'm dead serious— _that's overdue!"_ Completely unimpressed, he reached out, latched onto her wrist, and dragged her arm closer, wrapping his front legs around it in a sort of hug; pleased with his accomplishment, he wiped his cheeks on her hand and settled in for a nap with an absurdly cute little sigh.

Amber stared at the dozing cat in despair, not even trying to retrieve her captive wrist. He didn't seem to be a bad cat, really—even if he _had_ tried to sharpen his claws on her legs Friday—and he certainly was sweet. He was gorgeous, too—his coat was black and white, patterned similar to a tuxedo, with four little white 'boots.' He had clear blue eyes, a lovely cream white face, long, proud whiskers, and a wide black nose. He wasn't noisy, either—other than the loud purring and a couple low, raspy mews that reminded her of a scratched record, he'd been remarkably silent. Of course, he _was_ keeping her from her work….

"I'm letting myself be controlled by a _cat,"_ she realized aloud, wincing. "It's not even _my cat,_ and I'm already wrapped around its little toe."

"You're also _talking_ to him, Dear," Abe pointed out from the open doorway, inviting himself in. "I see sending him home didn't help any." Amber glared accusingly at the creature licking her captive hand.

"It kept coming back—Red says it _likes_ me."

"Is that so hard to comprehend?" he teased. "Perhaps he simply has good taste."

" _It_ ," she retorted, "is a shedding, clingy _nuisance_ , and it's _grooming_ my _hand."_ An unexpected nip drew a snappy, _"Hey!_ No biting!" To her dismay, the cat only purred louder, aiming another slow blink at her.

"He's very healthy," Abe pointed out, carefully sliding the pile of paperwork out from beneath the cat. "And he seems quite sociable. As he's one of Hellboy's, he should already be neutered and up on his shots—the scratching could be remedied, as well, with training or declawing." Realizing his insinuation, Amber turned panicked eyes to him.

 _"Oh no,"_ she protested, trying to pry the cat off of her arm. _"No no no no no,_ we do _not_ need a _cat_! This—this _thing_ needs to just go back to its _owner_! I don't _do_ pets!" Abe chuckled, stroking the purring animal's slightly plump ribs.

"Your brother has more than enough cats already—one less won't hurt, and it's clear that this one hasn't really bonded with him or the others. What are you afraid of?" She avoided his eyes, scrutinizing the cat warily. "Amber?"

"I don't do pets," she repeated softly, finally giving in to the urge to rub the cat's belly. "because a pet ties you down. It's hard to find landlords who'll allow pets, it's hard to stomach leaving them alone all day while I work, and it's even harder to change cities with a pet tagging along. Every time Aunt A found out where I'd taken up residence, she'd start threatening to out me to my neighbors—every time she found me, I had to leave as quickly as possible, and find a new home, new job, new LIFE to prevent that. Even when she finally stopped, I still had to change towns every ten to twenty years—people would realize I wasn't aging, and they'd start getting nosy. The few times I broke my 'no pets' rule, it took twice as long to accomplish a move, and they were unhappy from being alone so often." Misty amber eyes met Abe's blue ones, and as so many times before, his gut churned with emotion—anger at the air type Elder who'd spent decades controlling Amber through fear, revulsion at the Elder's misguided vendetta and cruel nature, and regret for not being there to free Amber from the woman's grip from the start, never mind that he'd spent the first thirty-eight years of her life comatose in a tank beneath St. Trinian's Hospital, and hadn't even _known her_ until just over two years ago. Forcing himself to focus on the here and now, he rounded the desk and cupped her chin in his hand, raising her eyes to his.

"Do you anticipate having to move on again?" he asked gently. "Amber Sr. knows where you are, and has known for quite some time now—does that mean you have to resign and move on to another city?" She shook her head vehemently, horrified at the idea.

 _"No!"_ she answered emphatically, reaching to clasp his cheek. "I'm free now—I'm safe here, and I'm finally able to be myself without risking my life! She has no control over me anymore—"

"—yet you still see taking in a pet as a risk, and believe doing so will hinder your ability to move on," he reminded. Startled by the realization, she slumped back in her chair, her tortoiseshell glasses slipping down her nose comically. "You said it yourself—you don't have to spontaneously leave town anymore. You don't have to go from one city to the next every few years for your own safety, and you've built a comfortable life here." He smiled encouragingly, brushing the pad of his thumb over her slightly parted lips, taking care not to smear her lipstick. "You're finally free, able to do everything you'd been unable to do. After living so long, yet so little, you deserve to live as you please, and if having a pet is something you'd enjoy, I _wholly_ encourage it."

She gave a watery smile, lacing her fingers with his; through the skin-to-skin connection, he picked up happiness, relief, and gratitude, and the fact that in truth, she liked cats very much. He bent to claim her lips in a brief, tender kiss, then reached to scratch the still-purring cat behind his ears. "It looks like you've been adopted," he remarked lightly.

"He certainly has," she grinned, eyeing the cat fondly. Abe smirked at her.

"I was talking to YOU," he corrected. "He's quite taken with you, from the sounds of it, and he's wondering what you'll name him."

"Doesn't he already have a name?" Amber frowned, trying to recall what Hellboy had called him.

"Hellboy named him Tux, but he apparently despises the name—something about it being 'boring,' if I'm reading him properly."

"He seriously named you TUX?" Amber murmured to the cat, scratching his clean white cheeks. "What are you, a _penguin?_ I _swear_ he's adopted, _really."_ The cat replied with another low, scratchy meow. "Yeah, I was pretty annoyed to find out, too—You'd think B would'a TOLD us he adopted a half-demon baby sent to destroy the world, right?"

"A name, Dearest?" Abe reminded, laughing lowly; she blushed.

"Sorry, Big Guy," she smiled at the cat. "Squirrel moment. So a name…" She scrutinized his color, his eyes, his markings, and his rather quiet demeanor. "What do you think of Charlie?"

"Charlie?" Abe echoed dubiously. "I'm assuming there's a reason behind that name?" She grinned, gently rubbing the cat's nose.

"He reminds me of Charlie Chaplin, what with his coat and eyes…and that black nose kinda looks like Chaplin's mustache." Seemingly pleased with the name, Charlie butted his head into Amber's open hand, purring louder than ever.

"Charlie it is, then," Abe confirmed, squeezing Amber's shoulder. Already content with his new life, Charlie kneaded Amber's arm, basking in the attention being directed at him. As focused as he was on the endless stream of mental commentary and planning going through his wife's mind, Abe never noticed the odd gleam in the pale blue eyes watching him intently.

* * *

 ** _Monday Evening, the Library_**

Abe flinched; instinctively retreating from the glass wall between him and the library. It was still there—Charlie the cat still sat before the tank, watching him with a worrisome gleam in his pale blue eyes. A soft greeting from the doorway drew his attention from his stalker, albeit momentarily. Amber swept toward him laden with what looked like a tray of tea, cookies, and a small covered bowl.

"So this is where you've been, Charlie!" she cooed, pausing only to set down her burden before lavishing attention on the too-innocent feline. "What a smart boy you are, finding the library all on your own!"

"How are you, Aber'hem?" Abe mumbled, almost sulky. "Quite well, thank you…aside from being terrorized by your PET."

"I'm not ignoring you, silly," Amber laughed, setting the now uncovered dish down for Charlie. Drawn by the pungent scent of the broth, he finally left his post to investigate. "Jazz sent some tuna for him." Abe choked, shrinking further from the glass. "We figured he'd be hungry."

"You're feeding it FISH?" he muttered dubiously, glancing fearfully between the cat and his wife. "It's been stalking me for hours, just waiting for a chance to—"

"Don't be silly, Abe—he's NOT going to EAT you. Come on out while the tea's hot…I brought your favorite." He hesitated a moment, glancing back and forth from the steaming pot of fresh Earl Grey to the cat currently buried up to its ears in tuna shreds. Finally working up the nerve, he rose to the surface and stepped up onto the hidden walkway. After a quick rinse-off under the free-standing sluice shower, he paused under the air vents to dry off, working up his nerve to confront the animal that clearly thought he was a treat.

By the time he reached Amber's side, Charlie had licked the bowl clean and was once again staring into the tank curiously. To his bewilderment, the cat never spared him a single glance; it simply stared into the tank, eyes fixed on the rippling surface high above. Abe hesitantly approached the cat, following it's gaze…and uttered a chagrined laugh.

"Hon?" Amber asked curiously. "What is it?" Abe felt rather foolish. With a sheepish grin, he gestured up toward the surface of the water.

"It's the light above the tank," he explained. "He's watching the reflections." Amber burst out laughing, feeling her way toward the sofa.

"You," she wheezed. "Poor, poor you…terrorized…didn't even…notice you!" Finally certain that he had been blowing the whole situation out of proportion, Abe joined Amber on the sofa. He'd become quite fond of their evenings in the library—discussing everything from literature and music to society and world affairs, occasionally dancing when the mood struck them, and sharing poetry that struck them, often recited or read aloud. Most recently, they'd taken to reading together. As he poured himself a cup of tea, she reached to the end table, where their latest novel lay waiting. It was her turn to read, and she began with a sly, grin.

 _"'In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.'"_

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Darcy:** A blatant Pride and Prejudice reference. When Miss Elizabeth Bennet first meets Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, he makes a horrible first impression—like Amber did on her first day. Based on this first impression, Elizabeth convinces herself that Darcy is horrible, snobbish, and unfeeling—just as Abe was convinced that Amber was horrible, deceitful, and cruel because of that first impression—technically second impression, since his first impression was that she was shy, sweet, confident, and lucky Hellboy didn't flatten her into a pancake when he tackled her. As Elizabeth and Darcy do in Pride and Prejudice, Abe and Amber realized the error of their ways over time, fell head over heels in love, and are happily wedded. For any readers who have NEVER read Pride and Prejudice or at the very LEAST _(I can't believe I'm_ _ **saying**_ _this)_ watched the movie, the closing passage is Mr. Darcy's somewhat half-assed proclamation of love, from that very book.

 **Charlie:** Charlie's behaviors—especially the 'latch on, hug, cheek wipe, snuggle, and groom' bit—are all based on my cats. Mostly he's based on the younger one, who has serious abandonment issues, and has been directly responsible for every decrease in productivity my writing ever suffers. It's hard to write around a 13 pound lump of lard squishing itself between me and the keyboard, especially when said lard starts ROLLING on the keyboard. Either way, maybe Abe's just being paranoid about Charlie stalking him…or, maybe not. We may never know, lol.


End file.
